Page 65 of The Comedown

He’s unbelievable. Not that I was actually planning on getting a happy ending—in front of nine other people no less—but I’d bet my life Julian himself has gotten his own happy endings before.

“You know what? Never mind. You’re no longer invited to go to the children’s hospital with me.”

His chuckle is deep, but not authentic in any way.

“Why’d you make me come here?”

We’re sitting in conference room while the hospital staff get everything set up, and Julian’s turning a very interesting shade of green the longer we wait.

I tell him plainly, “I didn’t. You tagged along, remember?”

“I remember you trying to get one of your slits fingered by that fucking—”

“For a man with such filthy lyrics, you’re a prude, you know that?” At least when it comes to me.

He lowers his face, saying seriously, “Collette, this place isn’t for people like me.”

“Prudes?”

His head snaps up. “I’m not a prude, smartass. Anytime you want me to prove it—”

“You were saying?”

“I have tattoos.” He checks over his shoulder as if he’s expecting to get arrested any minute.

“So do I.”

“But some of mine require parental supervision.” He slips his arms through his leather jacket, covering up most of the tats that are definitely intended for a more mature audience.

“What are you planning to do when you have your own children? Wear long-sleeve shirts until they’re eighteen?”

“I just won’t have any,” he murmurs, still glancing around, and I lean forward, my arms dangling between my now spread thighs.

He won’t have any what?

Julian notices me studying him, and shrugs, saying, “I got fixed.”

“You got a vasectomy?”

He nods.

“Already? Why?”

“You know…”

No, I don’t. Was it voluntary? Involuntary? Was it for medical reasons?

“Look, whatever,” he says when my face hasn’t changed. “That shit happens all the time. I’ve already had three paternity suits filed against me and not only do I never fuck bareback, my spunk don’t even got swimmers. You know the deal. Groupies looking for an eighteen-year-long paycheck.”

I scoff, sitting back abruptly. Yes, that’s a legitimate concern in this industry, but holy shit. What a sacrifice to make yourself. And so young. He’s only twenty-seven years old for Christ’s sake.

Except this might just be as long as he was prepared for his life to last.

At night, I do make Julian leave my bus because I know it’s what’s best, but the worry I feel in his wake never leaves. The worry isn’t just for his sake either; it’s for mine as well. I like Julian. He’s a good person, much better than he lets on. He’s funny, protective, and talented—so talented it’s not even fair—and every morning I find him still alive feels like a gift. I wish he saw it the same way.

“Do you want kids?”

“I don’t know. I never thought about it.”